


looking out for you

by gabriphales



Series: gomens drabble hell [26]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Drabble, Gentle Kissing, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Tenderness, vv gentle this is just soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:53:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23917846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabriphales/pseuds/gabriphales
Summary: crowley comforts aziraphale; plotless and soft
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: gomens drabble hell [26]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664713
Comments: 1
Kudos: 43





	looking out for you

**Author's Note:**

> *crowley voice* smorch

"Don't blame yourself," Crowley tells him. "you thought you were doing what was best for me. And, at the time, maybe it was. Who knows what might've happened if we'd been more obvious."

Aziraphale's expression twists into that sour, rueful frown he's so good at pulling off. Never one to deny himself the opportunity to flaunt his distaste for a sentence just spoken, or grievance mislaid, he's all too apt at letting Crowley know when his reassurance has missed the mark. This time, it seems like it's flown past the landing strip entirely, and Aziraphale's gotten more stirred up than before. 

Crowley leans in closer, then. Tugs the book from his lap, and knocks his legs over Aziraphale's instead. His thumb hooks under Aziraphale's chin, satisfying the ache for physical contact, warm flesh against flesh. 

"Come on, angel. Be serious, are you really still upset about all that? About what you said?" he asks, rubbing faintly over the furled skin that wrinkles with Aziraphale's pout. Aziraphale misses his cue for eye contact, staring at the space where their legs touch instead. He breathes something heavy and sore, barely raising his voice to speak.

"Yes, actually, I must suppose I am. And I have reason to - I was _dreadfully_ awful to you, I haven't the slightest idea why you stuck around." he says, brimming up with tears in every aspect of tone. Crowley loathes the sting his pink, tired eyes send reeling in his chest. He rarely sees Aziraphale cry. Not like this, not with such _indecent vulnerability,_ as the angel would put it.

"So you got prissy a couple times, that's what you're all up fussed up over? I dealt with worse from Hell on a daily basis, darling. Don't hold this over your head forever. We're both constantly changing, yeah? And things are better now. We can both be better with what we're allowed to do." Crowley says, cupping at Aziraphale's face, and stroking at the wetness that's gathered beneath his eyes. Aziraphale mutters something quiet, pushes him away, miracling a handkerchief instead, and dabbing the tears away himself.

"You can't do everything for me." he insists. "I don't deserve it."

"But you _do,_ you do to me." Crowley nips his insecurity, hoping he can drown the whole lot of Aziraphale's internalized woes.

"I don't know..."

"Will you let me show you? Please? How much you mean to me." 

Crowley's eyes are wide and pleading. Aziraphale can't deny that. He's already denied him too much.

"Of course, love." he says, forcing a small smile.

And Crowley presses his mouth to Aziraphale's, tender and cautious, painfully aware he's treading on new ground. It's the first taste of Heaven he's felt without nausea in a long, long time. The first glimpse at something divine that hasn't made him burn with the left-over ash of coals smoked dry. His fingers tremble, and he wants to hold Aziraphale, he wants it so _very_ badly. But this is still a delicate process. He can't risk anything too fast. Can't dare a hazard that's unnecessary.

Aziraphale's arms curl around his neck, and he thanks whatever force lies above or below for watching over them. He's being kissed more than he is kissing, at this point. Aziraphale's enthusiasm makes up for inexperience. He keeps getting closer to Crowley, somehow closer, despite how close they feel already. Moving in until there's very little left of them that isn't pressed up against one another, and gasping - gasping so prettily it's a crime against God he hasn't been heard like this before. Crowley wants to help him make those noises whenever he should be permitted to, whenever he gets the chance. He loves him, loves him, loves him so dearly.

When Aziraphale pulls away, there's a thick flush to his pale, full cheeks. Crowley notices it with pride, and locks it away in his mind for later.

"Well," Aziraphale hums, breathless in a way that makes Crowley's lungs give out. "I think that helped get the message across. Thank you, my dear."

Crowley can't help but laugh, snorting hard enough his throat smarts with the force of it. "'Course, angel. Anytime, anytime."


End file.
